At the Corner of Knollwood and Garland: May 2013

With little to no complications during my pregnancy and delivery with Matthew we expected things to go the same way with Thea. However, when Thea was born, her temperature was low both while I was holding her and when she was under the heat lamp while getting weighed. The nurse took a screening of her glucose and it too was low. While she and I had no risk factors for problems that would cause a low blood sugar reading, she was given formula to get her sugar up right away and then she was taken to the Infant Special Care Unit (ISCU) which is like a NICU. She was there for several hours for more formula and observation. She was back with us around 12:30 that Thursday with a report of good health, but for those hours it was upsetting. Your mind starts to go. Despite being told that she is "probably" going to be fine, you think about if things are not.

This happened again at her one month appointment...We were told that she was 9lbs, 10oz (had gained 28oz in 18 days and at the 75th %ile). She was 22in which is also at the 75th %ile (Note: can you imagine growing almost two inches in a month? I can.). Her head circumference was at the 50th %ile. Checking in at normal. The doctor and I talked about how things were going while he continued to examine her. At one point he asked if she was breech. No. And then at the end of the appointment he said..."she has a hip click." A what? Yeah, her left hip clicks when manipulated. Thus, we were told to schedule an ultrasound for two weeks from then in order to assess for hip dysplasia. Once again, we were told it's "probably" nothing. Worst case scenario, Thea will have to wear a cloth brace and it should correct itself. Our doctor told me that early diagnosis leads to it being quite easy to correct.

When things go perfectly, you begin to expect perfection. So with these hiccups in our path, we are now readjusting to knowing there will be obstacles ahead with our children's health and life in general. And it will all "probably" be okay. That's gonna take some getting used to.

Remember the last time we did this? At like 37 weeks, E was dilated and M was engaged; Dr. Pellar said he was on track to come on time. It was the American Dream. Then E's cervix got lazy and M got lazier; he disengaged and we lived the Iowa Dream of getting induced under strict doctor's orders four days past the due date. Iowa. It's America, but let me tell you how many people pulled into Ellis Island dreaming of a new life in Davenport.

Well, this time was different. E didn't really start to dilate significantly until week 39. Deuce never even bothered to engage. And even when we were told there was little chance we would make it four days past the due date, we didn't really believe it. I guess we just assumed this would be the same as last time. And it probably was going to be, until dinner time on April 10, four days before the due date, when E decided to say something to the effect of "once it is this late, you just assume the baby isn't coming today." Five minutes later, E because having semi-regular, minute-long contractions. Accordingly, E decided to go ahead and conduct a phone session from 9:30 - 10:30. Fortunately, the contractions basically stopped during the session--only one, mild 30-second number--but I would be lying if I said I love the level of debt load that leads to such financial decisions.

We were told that Baby Part II is considerably different that Baby the Original. Whereas the first time around, you don't even think about calling the doctor until you have had at least an hour's worth of minute-long contractions in four-minute intervals, with #2 you are supposed to head to the hospital after an hour of minute-longers every five to ten minutes. Apparently, a previously exercised birth canal is far less difficult for a human being to descend. Given that more than a handful of E's contractions were 11ish minutes apart, we put the odds of an overnight labor at 50/50. We really did discuss this before going to bed around 11:00.

Four and a half hours later, E woke up. She had to use the commode. Pleasant. At 3:42, she woke me up to tell me that she was contracting every three minutes but she didn't think I should get out of bed because maybe they would stop and she had already called her dad okay bye and then she left the room. I hope the run on babble I just wrote properly conveys how I interpreted her mental state. I was still half-asleep and horribly confused, as is often the case when I wake up in the middle of the night, so I was left laying in bed trying to reason what I should do. I was thinking she was in labor and that we needed to get ready--as in, we need to leave in the next 20 minutes ready--but I was also thinking she wanted me to stay in bed and I didn't want to upset her by forcing things. I figured I had to play my hand correctly here. Shoving in all my chips a moment too soon could lead to undue stress on E and a dampening of the excitement of the moment. On the other hand, waiting until the hand was over to make a betting decision could lead to a pile of hot afterbirth all over my living room and the permanent loss of our security deposit.

I am thinking I didn't need to write those last few lines.

At 3:55, E returned to the room to tell me it was labor. I get out of bed and spent the next 10 minutes trying to get the sleep out of my head while also imploring myself to get my sh-word together. I was reasoning, correctly, that I needed to be in complete control but had to do it casually. E's opinion had to matter and be heard while also having no bearing on what we actually did. It was actually one of the cooler experiences of my life.

The first thing I did was call E's father; I told him this was the real thing and he or Jeanne needed to come over immediately. Law enforcement would not look kindly upon us leaving Matthew alone in the crib. I then called the doctor. She shocked the world by telling us to go to the hospital. That 15 second conversation cost Blue Cross Blue Shield of Illinois $1,500. I then loaded the car. I should probably mention E was also getting ready to go, and while she was clearly nervous, she was handling herself well. For example, when I told her the hospital said there were no tub rooms available, she took it in stride and kept getting ready. Given that the tub was the single biggest reason Matthew's epidural-free delivery was tolerable, it is really impressive that she handled the information so admirably. So well done, honey. Well done.

Continuing to observe E, it was obvious we needed to leave. Understandably, she wanted to wait until her mom arrived--we wanted to avoid waking up Matthew, bringing him to the hospital, and throwing his day out of whack. The least we could do, on the day that we were permanently and emphatically reducing the level of parental attention he received for the rest of his life, was let him sleep past 4:30 in the morning. So I decided that if Jeanne was no more than 15 minutes away, we would push it and wait. I called Jeanne. She hadn't left yet. Thank you, Decisions Made Easy. I told Jeanne to meet us at the hospital. E protested. I told E to get in the car. She misheard me and went and got Matthew. As I stood there, befuddled that E went in the opposite direction of getting in the car (we were already outside loading the car), Jeanne began to protest. I told her we would see her at the hospital and hung up the phone. Decisive action makes me feel like a big man.

E returned to the car, with Matthew in tow. She thought I said for her to get him. I did not. I found out later that E was stunned when I "told" her to get Matthew in her physical condition. With good reason. That would have made me a monster.

So we headed to the hospital. Thirty minute drives quickly turn into eighteen minute drives when it is 4:30 AM and you ignore red lights. Matthew was a champ. He even laughed when I honked at an oncoming car that was entering the turn lane as I blew through an intersection. It actually wasn't until right this second that I realized that that was the last drive for just the three of us until... who knows. Whenever we decide to take Matthew somewhere while Thea is at Grandma's. That's a little sad.

A little bit more on Matthew. I think we have mentioned that he could sense things were changing the past few months; he has been pulling some of his hair out lately (it's not as bad as it sounds but it is certainly worse than “he hasn’t been pulling some of his hair out lately”) and the doctor thinks it is/was a stress reaction to the pregnancy. The night before labor, Matthew was reacting like it was graduation eve, less the alcohol and related poor decisions. We had a great time--including a 20 minute Immigrant Song dance party--and he was completely in the moment. He also continuously went to E to give her big lingering hugs and even sat in her lap for 20 minutes--something he only does when he's tired. He wasn't tired this time. He also tugged on his hair. It was as if he knew this was it, and he was making the most of the evening. The same thing happened at the hospital. Once we arrived, Matthew began Oscaring the living daylights out of the role of "18 month old, violently ripped out of bed at 4:30 AM." Jeanne arrived to pick him up around 5:15, and he continued to fuss as I put him in the car. But then, just as they were about to leave, I knelt down next to him to say that the next time we saw him, he would have a brother or sister and that never again would it be just the three of us--but that no matter what, he would always be our favorite little guy (even if he was now going to be tied for first). From the moment I started talking, he stopped fussing and became very peaceful, listening intently. That never happens when he is so tired. It was a wonderful blessing to have that moment.

By 5:45, we were checked into the room and trying to figure out how the DVD player works. Most importantly, I had changed into the candy stripes. Priorities. I was surprised to find that a fellow Deerfield Warrior was one of the nurses on duty, albeit not our nurse. I recognized her immediately because she and I spoke exactly zero times in high school so why wouldn't I remember her like some sort of deranged stalker who still keeps his yearbook on the nightstand. She had no idea who I was because she and I spoke exactly zero times in high school and she is normal. Back in our room, our actual nurse told us E was at five cm and to go take a walk "until 7:00 or something changes." You know, like suddenly we hear a loud popping sound and we are standing in a flood of bloody show. Might be time to shuffle on back to the room.

So we began to walk. Within fifteen minutes, the contractions started getting painful enough to cause E to stop walking. Within twenty minutes, she needed to hold on to me and could not talk. Within twenty-five minutes, I was singing E the bedtime songs we sing Matthew to put her in a peaceful place. Within thirty minutes, E was curled up facedown on a bench. People were staring. Showing a keen eye for the smallest change in my wife's behavior, I decided it was time to check in with the nurse.

The resident checked E again at 6:40. She was at "8 cm going on 9 cm, with a bulging bag." Yuck. Dr. Pellar was called. At 6:55, Dr. Pellar checked E and she was at 9.5 cm. The doctor asked if she should break the bag. The positives of breaking the bag include being able to push immediately and end this thing. The negatives include nothing. All that education, still asking stupid questions. She broke the bag. At 7:00, E started pushing.

You may recall that the first go-around included multiple hours of long, painful pushing by a screaming, moaning, exhausted woman. She had to be coached to keep her chin down and encouraged that the finish line was near. This time, not so much. She pushed five times. She didn't need to be told anything. There was no screaming. There was no moaning. There was no exhaustion. There was still some grunting. And at 7:22, there was still a baby. Dr. Pellar showed me the baby. I saw a vagina. I did a double-take. Still a vagina. I guess I was expecting boy parts.

"HI THEA!" Our wonderful, looks-just-like-her-brother little girl was here, all 7 lbs., 9.6 oz., 20.25 in. of her. Dr. Pellar handed her to E. It was just as fun to see the second time around. And it was prettier. Thea looked like a C-section baby. Matthew looked like Gumby.

And with that, we have reached the conclusion of Part I of the birth story, and just a month after it actually happened. In Part II, which will be written whenever M and T let it be written, we will discuss all of the post-birth fun, including a trip to the ISCU, a horrifyingly incompetent nurse and the conflicting emotions of being excited to have Thea but feeling guilty for cheating on Matthew. NOW I'VE HOOKED YOU, ENJOY CHECKING THE BLOG DAILY.

Since E already posted all these pictures before I started writing, I am going to keep them here. And relax, Thea is fine, we survived the hospital stay and got over the guilt. Matthew is adjusting great. I've ruined the hook. Please still come back.